


They Watch You

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-26
Updated: 2002-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder's not himself lately.  And if Krycek can't save him.





	They Watch You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

They Watch You

## They Watch You

#### by David S.

Subject: [M/K] NEW FIC: They Watch You, Rated R, M/K, by David S. Date: Wednesday, June 12, 2002 7:58 PM 

Title: They Watch You  
Author: David S. Website: http://www.hegalplace.com/david/ Rating: R  
Keywords: M/K, Horror, Mulder torture  
Spoilers: Nope. 

Disclaimer: The X-Files are not owned by me. No infringement or profit is intended. Call off your men. 

Summary: Mulder's not himself lately. And if Krycek can't save him... 

Archive: Yes. Just ask first so I know what dark corners of the internet my baby has gotten lost in. 

Notes: This one is inspired by "Misery," "The Matrix," and a comic book entitled "The Filth." Find 'em, read 'em, watch 'em. 

Special thanks: To those I love: Satina & Shan. Hope I don't creep you out too much, loves. This one's spooky. And thank you honey for the beta! 

Feedback: Well, yeah, that'd be nice. Send all love letters, chain letters, spam, internet hoaxes, virus alerts, really bad jokes, movie reviews, and good, old-fashioned hate mail to: 

* * *

The one I want is on the top shelf, which means if I really, really want it, I'm going to have to ask. Oh well, what's one more humiliation, right? I look to my left and my right. There's a tattooed man looking over a video case entitled "Fuck Frenzy." It's impossible not to notice his hard on. 

There's a woman with metal rings in her lips and a look of vague ambivalence on her face behind me, reading a collected book of the Family Circus and not laughing. 

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I say raising my hand. I roll my wheelchair around so I'm facing her. She raises one finger to silence me while she finishes a cartoon. Seconds later, she looks at me, silent. 

"Could you grab," I say, pointing to the top shelf. "That one for me?" 

She walks over wordlessly, passing me. She reaches up and grabs the video next to the one I want and hands it to me. 

"Um, whoa," I say, laughing at the cover. "Not my cup of tea. Little wild for me. I want that one." I point up to "Leather Lovers Part 6." 

"You want this one," she says and goes back to the counter. I'm not sure how to respond. I guess I've gotten used to Kathy pushing me around, why not the rest of the world? 

"Really good, huh?" I say, trying to be good natured about the whole thing. 

"They watch you," she says, reading her book. 

Man, she is fucked up on something. What the hell is she talking about? The security cameras? 

"Yeah, they watch me. Great," I respond. Looney toon. I grab a People magazine and throw it on the counter with the video. 

"Be safe," she says nonchalantly. "Close cover before striking. Keep away from children." She punches a few numbers on the register. "That'll be $33.89." 

I stare at her and slowly hand her my money. The tattooed man comes up behind me. "They watch you," he whispers in my ear. 

God, fuck this place. I gotta get out of here. 

* * *

"You're Fox Mulder, aren't you?" 

A man I've never seen before stops in front me, a smile of recognition on his face. I don't have time for this shit. A bead of sweat rolls down my face and I desperately cling to the porno tape under my magazine. 

"No," I say tersely. A nagging sense of social decorum won't go away. "Must have the wrong man," I finally manage. "My name's Gary Weston." 

But he still stands there in front of my wheelchair like an idiot, still smiling, shaking his head. 

"You look exactly like a guy I knew in the Bureau. Fox Mulder. Somewhat of a legend. But I guess he could...you know..." He looks at my wheels, then feels awkward. Good. 

"Could you get out of my way, please?" Kathy will be pissed if I'm late. Pissed, pissed, pissed. 

Finally, exasperated, I turn my chair to the left to scoot around the dipshit. He has the same idea, unfortunately, and moves right back into my path. He grins sheepishly and jumps back to the right. I laugh condescendingly without any trace of humor. 

As I wheel down the sidewalk I hear him mumble "asshole" under his breath. I reply with a closed fist and a middle finger. Fox Mulder. Jesus! What a nutjob. 

I spot her. Looking as ugly as ever. She's a large, stocky woman who wouldn't look out of place in the World Wrestling Federation. How the hell did she get a job as a nurse? Certainly not for her people skills. 

They watch you, I think for no good reason. 

"Why, we like to take our time, don't we, Gary?" she chirps in an thick Irish brogue. She opens the back doors of the van and lowers the ramp. "Find the right one, did we?" She nods to the items resting on my crotch. "You can tell us all about it." 

I wheel myself up to the ramp and she comes in behind me and takes control of the chair, pushing me onto the ramp rather roughly. I used to think I just wasn't fast enough for her when she would do that, but now I know it's her way of letting me know who's really in control here. She pushes the button to raise the ramp. 

"It-it's none of y-your business," I stammer as she pushes my chair into the van. The doors slam behind me and I jump at the sound of it. I listen as the ramp clangs back into place. Then she climbs into the driver's seat. 

"Everything you do Gary, is my business," she says, a tinge of warning in her voice. "Never forget that and all will be right with the world." She starts the van and pulls into traffic. 

"You're a bitch." It feels so good to say out loud, but I instantly regret it, remembering the stapler. 

"Ohh," she says, sounding sad. "Ohhh. Now Gary, that's an ugly word. Who takes care of you? Who feeds you and keeps you healthy? Who's the only one who cares whether you live or die?" 

"You don't give a SHIT about me! You're constantly mean to me." A bolt of panic shoots through me, the realization that she's right. I don't have _anyone_. She's right. 

"Ha! What an interesting phrase, Gary. What an interesting choice of words. 'I don't give a shit about you.' I only clean your shit up for you now. Oh, I give a shit and then some, you disgusting piece of filth." 

The anger and the desperation within me fight for dominance. "I want a NEW nurse. I'm going to call your superior when we get home. I'll get a new nurse. One who won't treat me this way!" 

The control in her voice seems to unravel. "You do that! No one else will work for you, Mr. Weston. Oh, you're the talk of the clinic, you are. Everyone tells me what a worthless bag of flesh you are. So you call, Gary, you fucking call. The nurses could use a good laugh." 

I've said too much. And she really won't let me call. I understand that. There's something in her voice that tells me she'd cut off my hand before letting me do that. Suddenly I dread getting home. The thought of being alone with her tonight is too much. "I-I don't have to call," I say meekly. "I'm sorry, Kathy." 

"Everything I do, I do it to keep you from harming yourself, Gary. You understand that, don't you? It's for your own good!" She signals, changes lanes and crooks her head back to look at me, her face twisted with hate. "But if you don't appreciate all that I do, Mr. Bratty-Fuck, do you know where you'll find yourself?" 

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. I shake my head no, quickly. 

"Between the devil and the deep blue sea." She focuses back on traffic. "The devil and the deep blue sea." 

She makes a right turn and pulls into our driveway. Home, sweet, fucking home. "Well, there we are now. Now you can watch your fuck movie." She laughs, cruelly. "I don't understand it, Gary, honestly." She makes a quick motion to my crotch. "Your pecker isn't of any use to anyone. I swear, we should just remove the blasted, useless thing." A glint shines in her eye as she visualizes. God, I do believe she would do it. 

* * *

"More apple turnover, Gary?" she asks pleasantly. It tastes horribly sour, but I don't dare refuse. Not after today. She stabs what looks like a glazed lump of an apple with bits of uncooked flour covering it and shoves it into my mouth. "You missed a bite." 

"Yes, please," I say, chewing, trying to sound grateful. 

"Maybe if you clean up your plate before it gets dark, you can watch your fuck movie. Would you like that, Gary?" She smiles darkly, knowing it's almost bedtime. All she has to do to keep me from it is to keep feeding me until it's time for sleep. And you don't fuck with sleep curfew. "We could watch it together." 

I feel the panic in me, rising. I can't let her see that tape. There's something on it...something that girl wanted me to see. I'm not sure I want to see it myself, but I know I don't want to watch it with _her_. 

I give her my best, most appreciative smile. "Thank you, Kathy. I'd rather be alone when I watch it though." I roll my eyes shyly up to the ceiling. "You know." In some strange way, I think she's jealous. She doesn't want me to enjoy watching other people have sex. 

"Oh, Gary, I've seen your privates more than any other woman has. There's no need for embarrassment. I'm the one who cleans your ass for you, you know." As if she'd let me forget. 

"I just...need some _private_ time." I smile again, trying to look like a sheepish little boy. "Please." For once it works. 

"All right, but you're being ridiculous. Really." She glances at the clock. Shit. "Well, would you look at that. It's bedtime. No naughty videos tonight. Maybe tomorrow then. If you're a good lad." 

"There's not enough time?" I say, knowing I really should be keeping my mouth shut. 

She gingerly takes my hand and then starts to squeeze it. My knuckles crack under her grip and I catch my breath through the pain. I try not to wince, but fuck! 

"You can't get too tired, Mr. Weston. There're rules for a reason. To keep you safe. Don't make my job any harder than it is." She lets go, but keeps her eyes locked onto mine, tightly. "Can you do that for me Gary? Can you make my job just a little bit easier?" 

I nod up and down, blinking back the tears in the corner of my eyes. 

She helps me into my bed. 9:00 sharp. At least it isn't bath night. She turns off the lights and stands in the doorway, facing me. 

"Good night, my little baby," she coos. "I do so love it when you're sleeping. You look so innocent. You don't say such horrible things." 

She turns and shuts the door. I listen for her footfalls as she walks into the kitchen. She's getting her nightly packet of microwave popcorn and Coca-Cola. Then she'll watch some television before going to bed. I'm not allowed a television in my room. I'm supposed to conserve my energy. Don't want to over-exert myself. I've heard it all before. 

The funny thing is that I'm supposed to go to bed early to save my energy, and yet she keeps the blasted TV turned up loud enough to keep me awake. I used to yell at her to turn it down. I don't do that anymore. 

Oh well, I do get to at least hear the shows. I can follow ER with the best of them. 

Occasionally, she'll drink more than just Coke. She'll add her favorite, Scotch. I can always tell when she's been drinking because she'll come in here in the middle of the night and stare at me, saying nothing, filling the room with quiet dread. I've always feigned sleeping, unsure of what to do or say. But when she's like this, it scares me the most. 

They watch you. 

What does that mean? Be safe. Close cover before striking. Keep away from children. Okay, the chick had been reading matchbook covers or something. Probably a drug addict. Don't know why I'm looking for meaning in the ramblings of some druggie porno clerk. 

Tomorrow. I've made it through another day. Tomorrow. 

* * *

"Drink your Tang, Gary. It's got all the Vitamin C you need to keep you alive and healthy. Drink, drink." She waits for me as I down the entire glass of heavily watered down Tang. Sometimes I think she has me drink so much of this crap so she can complain about how much I have to pee. 

"Now I'm going to be going to the shopping mart for groceries. Can I trust you not to upend yourself or get stuck in the spare bedroom? You know the doorway is too narrow." 

"Yes, Kathy. I'm just going to read my newspaper." Act nice. Act humble. If you fuck this up, she'll end up taking you with her and then you won't get any time away from this bitch. 

She examines me, trying to tell if I'm lying or not. Finally, she looks away, satisfied that I'm not going to break any of the rules. "Well, I suppose I'm going to have to trust you, Gary. I hope you can _earn_ that trust. If you do, you will be rewarded with more privileges. When I know you won't hurt yourself, that is." 

"Yes, Kathy." She hands the newspaper and I take it, smiling contritely. "Thank you for looking out for me." Cunt. She looks at me, curious. It's not every day I'm this polite. Better be careful. 

"Is there anything you want from the store?" she asks, holding a pen up to her shopping list. This irritates me to no end. I tell her what to get me and she just buys something else. 

"Wheaties?" I ask, hopefully. I haven't asked for that in awhile. Maybe she'll take pity on me. It could happen. 

"Wheaties," she says slowly, writing it down. She looks up at me. "What's the matter with oatmeal? You can't go wrong with oatmeal." 

"I'm tired of oatmeal. I'd like something different." 

"Oh. Very well then. We'll see. We'll just see about that. Although, I must tell you, I have a coupon for oatmeal. And I have a budget I must stick to. But we'll see," she promises. 

She puts on her coat and grabs her keys, putting them in her pocket. "Be good, Gary. I have angels watching you for me!" She chuckles, shaking her finger. She leaves, shutting the door and locking it behind her. 

I roll to the window and peer out behind the curtain, waiting for the van to pull out. I hold my breath, certain that she will get back out of the van, march in and grab me, insisting that I accompany her. That I'm too much of a cripple to handle myself without her. "Oh, Gary," she'd cry. "I need to keep my eye on you!" 

The van leaves. I let out a sigh of relief. I sit there for one full minute waiting for it to come back. It doesn't. 

"Thank you, Jesus!" I yell, the sound of my voice echoing off the walls. It sounds good. For once, my voice sounds good. Natural. My _own_. It's the voice of freedom. At least till she returns, boxes of oatmeal in hand. 

Feeling emboldened, I wheel back into my room and grab my video. The cover is...well, let's just say that even a horny fuck like me feels ashamed to even touch the thing. I might have to wash my hands. 

It's true. I have no feeling down there, as Kathy so tenderly pointed out. But I still feel the urge to watch these. I think she lets me just so she can point out how ridiculous I am. 

I watch them and I want to fuck. Men, women, I want to do them all. I want to feel again. I want to live again. 

Kathy has left the TV on. Some sort of reality dating show. I pull out the tape, which is unlabeled, stick it into the VCR, and hit play. The screen is black for a few seconds. Then the FBI warning pops up. It sits there, expecting me to read it or something, for like thirty seconds. As my eyes unfocus, waiting for the main event, a series of numbers flash into my head. Then the movie begins and it's...a cartoon? 

Animated vegetables....The opening titles say "VeggieTales." What...the...hell? I hit fast forward and my stomach feels acidy. Cartoon. Cartoon. Nothing here except a store clerk's idea of a funny joke. 

I rewind to the beginning. I just don't believe this is happening. The FBI warning appears again. Then, in the air, numbers flash, burning like an afterimage on my retinas. 555-7214. A phone number? 

I rewind again. Right after the FBI warning, they flash again, but I can't even see them on the screen. It's like they're projected right into my brain. Subliminals? I thought that was just a bunch of sci-fi crap made up by bad writers. 

As the VeggieTales cartoon unfolds, I wheel over to the phone and dial the number, my heart speeding up rapidly. Crazy. I'm going crazy. "555-7214," I say aloud, not wanting to forget it, but knowing somehow that that would be impossible to do. 

It rings eight times and I'm about to hang up when someone answers. 

"Thank you for calling Al's Pizzeria. May I take your order?" 

I fumble the phone, almost dropping it, then slam it down, hanging up. Subliminal ad for pizza? What the fuck? 

I sit there, staring at the phone. I shake my head and pick it up again, dialing the magic numbers floating in the air. It rings exactly eight times again. 

"Thank you for calling Al's Pizzeria. May I take your order?" 

I have no idea why I called again. What am I going to do? Order something? 

"Hello?" the voice asks. 

Before I even know what I'm saying, something inside my brain tumbles and I blurt out, "Be safe." 

"Close cover before striking," the voice answers, calmly. 

"K-keep away from children?" I ask, now trembling, feeling something strange inside me. 

"Sounds like you're ready, Mr. Mulder," the voice says. "Someone will call you back in twenty seconds." 

"My name is Gary! Gary Weston!" I yell, getting upset for some reason. "And...and...you don't know my number." 

I hear a click and then an annoying doo-doo-doo-doo-doo disconnected sound. With a shaking hand I hang the phone back up. I just look at it. It seems like some sort of bizarre creature to me instead of a telephone. Part of me is terrified, just wanting to take the VeggieTales tape back and give that clerk hell for playing practical jokes on handicapped people. Maybe I can forget that this weirdness has happened. Get back to my miserable, but _sane_ world with Kathy. 

I start to wheel away and it rings. I jerk in my chair at the sudden sound. It almost sounds louder with each ring. Finally, I grab it. 

"Listen," I spit. "I don't know why you're doing this to me, you freak, but--" 

"Mulder, listen to me," a gravelly male voice intones. "You're not yourself. And you won't recognize me, but I'm going to help you." 

"My name is NOT Mulder! It's Gary Weston! Why do people keep calling me that?!" I scream into the phone, unsure why it's affecting me so. Something about that name scares me, ringing a chord within me somehow. 

"I'll be there tonight, Mulder. After your nurse is asleep. Don't trust her, Mulder. She'll kill you if she finds out about me." 

"Who are you, you sick fuck?" 

"Krycek." The man on the other end sighs. "You used to know me, Mulder. Alex Krycek." 

* * *

"Sorry, love, but I'm afraid the Wheaties were too expensive." Figures. Kathy plops down the bags and immediately begins to put away the groceries. "But, I have a nice surprise for you." 

She reaches into a plastic bag and takes out a purple package. "Raisins!" she says with glee. "You wanted something different. Well, tomorrow, I'm going to put raisins in your oatmeal, you lucky bastard!" 

"But I don't like raisins." 

"Nonsense," she says brusquely. "Everyone loves raisins. They're nature's _candy_." She looks at me coldly to shut me up, then continues putting the groceries into the cupboard and the fridge. 

"So, what did you do while I was gone?" she asks shoving an extremely large bag of wheat germ into the baking cupboard. 

My heart stops for a second, then resumes beating. "Uh, just read the paper." I swallow the lump in my throat. "I dozed off a bit. Real big day for me." 

"I see. And here I thought you might have watched your stupid fuck video with the stupid fake women in it." She stops unpacking and looks at me. "Or is it stupid men? Is that what you fancy?" 

I smile nervously. "Heh. It's funny, Kathy..." I'm trying extremely hard to be charming. As it is it's an effort not to pass out from the tension. God, what if this Krycek calls back? And what will happen if he actually does come here tonight? Fuck, I don't want to know. When did my life get so complicated? "You see, I got a cartoon by mistake." 

Kathy scrunches her eyes disbelieving. "Cartoon?" 

"Wrong video, I guess." I shrug my shoulders. "Boy was I disappointed." 

"Probably just as well," she says, going back to putting away things that I would never want to eat. "I'm sure that's more your speed anyways." 

She finishes her task in silence and I begin to wheel away. A piercing ring shatters the air. The phone is ringing. I cock my head towards the phone and swing my chair around. 

"I'll get it," I yell, rolling my chair towards it as fast as I can. If it's him... I can't imagine the trouble I'll be in. 

Every ring seems to send a shock wave of fear through my body. Almost there... I wheel around the coffee table just in time...to watch Kathy pick it up. My breath leaves me. 

"Hello, Weston residence," she says in her happy phone voice. If they only knew. "Who is this?" she says irritated. I feel the intense urge to roll out the front door and just keep on going as far as I can. She slams the phone down and gives me a look. "Blasted phone solicitors," she curses and goes back into the kitchen. I close my eyes and let myself breathe. 

It's going to be a long night. 

* * *

Fucking bath night. Ugh. I hate being touched by her and she seems to take perverse pleasure in paying special attention to my dick. 

"Oh, this must of seen its share in its day, eh?" she says, gripping it with a wet washcloth. "It's a fine one. Too bad," she sighs before washing the rest of me. 

She puts me in bed and I'm filled with an odd mix of fear and anticipation. I don't know what's happening to me. Maybe it is all a joke. But what if it isn't? What if this man...Krycek...actually... No, it all sounds stupid. Best to just forget it and go to sleep. No one is coming for me. 

I hear the heavy steps of Kathy as she gets her popcorn and Coke. The TV comes on. Sounds like...a Three's Company rerun. She's got it turned up full blast. Jack is coming on to Mr. Roper. The studio audience is laughing uproariously and so is Kathy. She has a terrible whine of a laugh. It makes me sick to my stomach. I'd rather see her angry than hear that laugh. 

The laughter pauses while Jack sets up another punchline. In that space the bedroom floor creaks, slightly. I sit up, looking into the darkness. Nothing. The moonlight is streaming in through my window, illuminating my clothes, draped over a chair. My dresser. A coat rack. 

"Mulder," the coat rack whispers and I gasp. I stare intensely at it and a shadow moves from behind the coat rack. I blink several times, then squint, trying to make him out. I sit there, frozen with fear, unable to say anything. 

"Mulder," he repeats. "It's Krycek." He steps out of the shadows and stands beside me, lit by the glow of the moon. He looks strangely dark and beautiful. He's carrying what looks like a doctor's bag. Laughter erupts from the other room. Kathy is snorting and wheezing. 

"L-leave me alone," I stutter. 

"I'm here to help you, Mulder." He shakes his head, looking at me sadly. "They've really done a number on you, that's for sure. The perfect way to get rid of you. Take away _you_." 

"Y-you're not making any sense. Just leave!" Laughter comes rolling on through from the living room. 

"Listen. Your name...your real name...is Fox Mulder. _THEY_ have brainwashed you into thinking you are a man called Gary Weston. They've programmed the life out of you...making you meek and mild and even programmed you into thinking you're paralyzed from the waist down." 

"Tha-that's impossible," I stammer, clutching my blankets. "You're crazy!" 

"They have Nurse Ratchet there keeping you in line, making sure you'd never find out the truth. Oh boy, is she a piece of work." He walks over to the door, locks it, then comes back. "She's actually been convicted of criminal neglect in the deaths of several seniors. Of course, we know it was more than neglect. Luck was with her though as she found work from the one place where that's actually considered a good reference." 

"Wha-what are you going to do to me?" This man looks dangerous. "If you're going to kill me, just do it!" 

"Far from it, Mulder. I'm going to give you _you_ back. I liked the old you a lot better. You were a better dresser, for one. They turned you into a total geek." He pulls a tube of something out of his bag and a box with some sort of wires attached to it. "Unfortunately, it's not an easy solution. There's some pain, I'm afraid." 

I involuntarily scoot back away from him. "What is that thing?" I say with growing horror. 

"An Electromagnetic Rev Reversal. Three minutes of being jolted with these, it deactivates the false neural pathways they've set up in your brain, erasing the implanted memory traces and leaving you with your true memories." 

I start to shake my head as he unwinds the cords. 

"It's so strong that alone, the juice would kill you. That's why you have to eat this." He hands me the tube. I take it, feebly. It's a tube of AquaFresh. 

"You want me to eat toothpaste?" This guy is crazier than I thought. 

He grins at me. "It looks like toothpaste. It even tastes like toothpaste. It's not, though. It's what we call 'grounding gel.' It seals the receptors in your system, letting the electricity flow through you, leaving it to work specifically on the false memory traces." He pauses. "Actually, we're not quite sure how it works. We just know that unless you eat it, this thing..." He holds up the machine and shakes it. "Will kill you." 

"Oh fuck you! You are not getting anywhere near me with that thing!" 

"Mulder," he warns, gently. 

"Nuh-uh, I'm not going to do it, you asshole." 

"Well, now that sounds like the old Mulder I know and love." He's silent for a moment, thinking. Then he speaks. "Mulder, if you don't hurry up, we _will_ be caught. And I don't think you want that. I know what she's capable of. And so do you, I think. The stapler, Mulder. I know how much she likes to use it." 

A wave of terror sweeps through my body remembering her stapling my hand. I had asked her to switch CDs. She got up calmly, walked over to me, pressed the stapler into my flesh, and then leaned her considerable weight into it. 

I look at the tube, then begin to unscrew it. I start squeezing the contents into my mouth, trying not to gag. Oh well. It's not any worse than Kathy's apple turnover, I suppose. Just weird. 

"Good, Mulder...good. This is your first step back to me." 

I sniff audibly, disgruntled. This is the worst practical joke ever played, that's for certain. 

"Now this is the unpleasant part," he trails. He kneels beside me and attaches Velcro cuffs to my arms, tightly. They feel like blood pressure cuffs. "God, Mulder, I can't believe they did this to you. You don't know how long it took me to track you down." 

I look at him, then shut my eyes. Nothing makes sense anymore. 

"Okay, when I flip the switch, it's going to hurt. I'm sorry, Mulder. It's the only way. You'll thank me later, believe me. You ready?" 

"I don't seem to have a choice, do I?" I say bitterly, defeated. Goosebumps travel down my arms as I realize how quiet it's been. No laughter. No sounds. No...TV. 

The door swings open and slams into the bedroom wall. The huge shadow of Kathy takes up the doorway. 

"Krycek!" I yell in warning. 

He turns too late as Kathy swings a metal crutch into his head, knocking him to the floor. 

"You've been bad," she yells through a dark smile. "I started to watch your cartoon, Mr. Bratty-Fuck! I noticed the phone number and I called it!" 

She runs to the bed and mounts me, her weight crushing the breath out of me. My arms are pinned beneath her. 

"Can't...breathe..." I make out. 

"You've been calling for pizza, haven't you, you fucking bad boy!" She slaps me across the face. The air around me begins to sparkle and shine with little glowing dots. 

"Bad little lying fuckers don't get any Wheaties, do they?!" she screams, spit flying and landing on my face. 

"...Killing...me..." I wheeze. 

"Yes, you and your boyfriend! I'll kill him too when I'm done with you. I'll fucking put your heart in a pie and feed you to him and then I'll fuckingAAGACAAAAAAGGGUUHHHHHH!" 

From the corner of my eye, I see Krycek move and with a click of the switch the energy surges through me, every nerve alight with pain. I scream along with Kathy and she begins to spurt and cackle with electricity. Her body spasms with mine in a perverse mockery of coupling, and then her head ignites. 

Krycek grabs the wooden coat rack and shoves it into her side, pushing her flaming body off of me. But all I can feel are the needles of electricity erasing everything into a searing white wash of pure, wonderful light. My consciousness fades into bliss. 

It seems like an eternity, but, as Krycek would tell me later, it's only three minutes. It's only taken three minutes to release Fox Mulder from the prison that is Gary Weston. 

His is the first face that I see. God, it's a beautiful sight. My enemy. My saviour. If ever there was such a thing as redemption, Krycek has earned it and then some, releasing me from the worst hell that I could imagine. 

"Mulder?" he says, tentatively. "Is that really you?" 

I close my eyes again, mulling over my answer. It is. It really is. "Yes," I say, my voice cracking, the emotion welling up inside of me. 

Oh God, I lost myself. I fucking lost myself. And I'm free. I'm out. And he _led_ me out. I start to sob, the tears running down my face. I've never cried in front of Krycek before, but there's no point in stopping it. I couldn't if I tried. I'll be strong later. 

I feel a hand on my shoulder. His. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly. He doesn't talk. He doesn't have to. 

Time stands still, waiting for me to finish crying. So does he. Finally, everything...the tension, the relief, the anger flow out of me with the tears and I feel clean and full of hope. I haven't felt hope for what's seemed like years. 

"Thank you, Krycek...Alex," I whisper, my eyes finding his. 

He closes his eyes and nods his head once. "You can thank me later. We still have to get you out of here. There are cameras...They'll be coming." 

I try to move my legs but they don't respond. The familiar panic shoots through me. "Alex," I start, worriedly. My eyes dart over to Kathy's smoldering body. I half-expect her to pull herself across the floor like some worm, cackling insults. 

"No, it's okay. They work. It'll just take some physical therapy. You haven't been using them for awhile. But I'll help you, Mulder. I have a safe-house." He looks around the room. "And that's probably all I should say in _this_ house." 

The panic fades into relief again. I look again at her body. Still not moving. I'm safe. She's dead. 

Why is he doing this? _How_ is he doing this? How come he isn't one of _them_? 

"Alex," I say. He turns back to me. "How did you find me?" 

"Don't you know, Mulder?" He smiles warmly, putting his device back into his doctor's bag. 

I sit in my bed and stare at my legs, not looking up. I feel exhausted, physically, emotionally, spiritually, you name it. He sits down beside me and gently runs his hand down the curve of my face. His fingers rest at the bottom of my chin and he lifts my face so tenderly upwards and I want to lose myself in the strong, safe green of his eyes. 

"They watch you," he says. "But I do, too. I think I always have." 

He moves his head as if to look away, but he stops, as if he can't. As if my eyes on his keeps us locked together. He opens his mouth to say something, then he shuts it. 

"Get me out of here," I whisper, starting to shiver. 

* * *

send feedback to: 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to David S. 


End file.
